


Of Past Deeds and Future Debts

by BarclayBagshot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26450818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarclayBagshot/pseuds/BarclayBagshot
Summary: Trevor Wrenley is a carefree student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But when his Apparition exam goes south, an unexpected facet of his past is revealed. This turns him from a carefree student into a foible for those that oppose darkness. Dumbledore will require his help to fight the vestiges of an old foe, almost forgotten.





	1. Revelation

"The important things to remember when Apparating are the three D's."

Wilkie Twycross gazed dispassionately at the young witches and wizards arrayed in front of him in neat lines. He lazily swiped his stubby willow wand in the air, creating a shimmering hoop of silvery water that glimmered.

"Destination."

He set the hoop carefully on the ground, expanding it to encompass a comfortable area. He stood in the circle, flourishing himself with a little spin. Placing his wand against his head, he withdrew a silver strand. He silently willed it into existence above his head, a perfect image of himself standing in the silver circle waving back at the gathered crowd. Several murmurs broke out among the students at seeing this impressive display of projection.

"Determination."

At this point, the non-corporeal Wilkie closed his eyes, exaggerating the mental focus he placed in his actions. Real Wilkie did the same, holding his wand out, yet slightly up, eyes closed, face scrunched.

"Deliberation."

At that moment, both Wilkies turned on the spot, and a huge boom erupted in the hall. For an instant, the silver circle lay empty, shimmering air lingering, before the ashen form of Wilkie once again appeared in the circle with a tiny pop. The ghostly Wilkie appeared in his parallel circle a few second later.

"If you can manage the three D's, then you will become a master of Apparition. I encourage you to practice waving wands willfully, but the mental image of being in another place is particularly paramount. Visualization is verisimilitude for voyaging." He waved his wand, absently again, as his trunk slammed open and leaflets scattered over the heads of the students arrayed in front of him. "Please read these for the next few minutes while I prepare for the practical portion of today's torturous tests."

Wilkie hummed to himself as he duplicated the silver circle multiple times. Round tables popped loudly into existence among the students. Chairs erupted from nowhere with loud bangs, slamming into the students' legs and forcing them to sit at the tables. Grumbles and moans erupted from the students.

\- - -

The class had gone particularly well, Wilkie mused to himself. The students had practiced using the switching spell to move marbles in and out of the circles. Visualization practice. Wilkie slowly increased the mass of the objects as the individual students mastered the marbles, with most ending up switching small cannon balls.

He was on his way up to Headmaster Dumbledore's office to give a report on the progress of this years' first class. Apparition had a penchant for causing the most damage among novice wizards, and it was Wilkie's job to ensure that the students left the class with the same arrangement of body parts as they entered. The task seemed easy enough on the outside, but with the broad swath of skill level and innate danger, it took a truly gifted wizard to train the students.

"Mars Bar."

The gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office sprang aside. Wilkie ascended the seemingly endless spiraling staircase. Fawkes - the phoenix living in Dumbledore's office - trilled softly when Wilkie emerged in the office, signalling his presence to Dumbledore.

"Ah, Mister Twycross, a pleasure. Sherbet?" Wilkie took one of the offered candies, popping it into his mouth and suckling greedily. "An impressive bit of visual charm work," Dumbledore started. "I always do enjoy such spectacles."

"Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore. I find that pensieves have many, many uses."

"Indeed. Did you know that a pensieve - when inverted, held over your head - can protect you from rainfall?"

Wilkie smiled warmly at Dumbledore, finding himself missing this strange brand of humour from his own school days. They moved on to discussing the events of the class. Dumbledore made it a note to write down which students Wilkie believed would struggle with the final exam. They didn't need a repeat of Charlie Weasley's "accident". Dumbledore's social capital with the Oblivators was beginning to run out. But, try as he might, he could not help Apparating to the city and darkening them with his Deluminator. Which, incidentally, would explain where Dumbledore seemed to mysteriously disappear.

\- - -

The final Apparition tests were underway. So far, every student had completed the task successfully. Deputy Headmistress McGonagall was moving methodically down the list, and the tests were proceeding at a breathless clip.

"Tonks, Nymphadora."

Hair briefly flashing red in indignation at the use of her name, Tonks nevertheless took her spot in the middle of the Great Hall.

"When you are ready, dear."

Tonks breathed out, then lifted her wand in front of her. She saw the silver circle in front of her, saw her feet standing inside it, felt the cool stone beneath her feet, saw the Heads of House closely staring at her, the entrance hall doors right there. Destination. She wanted to be in that circle, more than anything else. Being there in that circle filled her mind, the only thing she willed. Determination. She spun on the spot, imparting her movement with her will to pull her through space. Deliberation.

Her stomach fell out and her eyes opened in shock. The ground flashed away from her and the air pushed in on all sides, choking her, squeezing her out of existence. Blackness filled her vision completely, and she felt tiny. Her bones ached.

The world rose quickly to meet her again, and she stumbled back into existence. Sound, feeling, and sight all rushed in at one time to choke her senses, as she collapsed to her knees, her wand clattering away. Although the world had returned, it spun in her vision.

She immediately discharged her stomach upon herself.

Gasps rang out from the assembled students, shuttered by a quick glare from Professor Snape, one of the Heads of House. Tonks placed both hands on the floor, willing the world to stop spinning around her. The ringing in her ears lessened and the ground stopped moving quite so much. As things returned to focus, Tonks could clearly see the silver circle still quite some distance away.

Groaning, she collapsed in a pile of her own sick.

\- - -

The rest of the students had all passed their tests, but they had run out of time for the last student. After the majority of the class gleefully left to enjoy the weekend, Dumbledore approached the only two students left in the Great Hall.

"I'm sorry, Trevor, but your examination has been unfortunately postponed until next week. And Nymphadora," Dumbledore said, ignoring the indignant stare he received in kind, "you will attempt to pass your test with Mister Wrenley. I do hope that today's events haven't dampened your fire too much. I have complete faith in you."

"But Professor," Trevor protested, "why can't I just take my test now?"

Dumbledore looked at Trevor softly, his eyes betraying his inner mirth.

"I'm sure Hogwarts has its reasons. For now, the charms preventing you from Apparating have returned. I do not have the power to simply remove them willy-nilly. There do exist things beyond even my ability."

Trevor grudgingly accepted this. Dumbledore was many things, but he was not a liar. Tonks grabbed his sleeve, dragging him out of the hall.

"A walk will do you good, Wrenley," she said, the sullen boy trudging after her absently. They emerged out of the large oak doors onto the grounds of the castle. Although it was sunny, the temperature was still barely above freezing. Trevor kicked a rock absently as he vented his frustration to Tonks.

"Spend eleven weeks," he fumed, drawing out the word eleven, "learning this shite and then, boom, suddenly miss my chance by mere minutes? What a crockery!"

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore has his reasons," Tonks said, dragging Wrenley down to a conveniently placed bench. Apparating was the hallmark of personal freedom for a wizard, and Trevor desperately wanted it. "At least you didn't get sick everywhere. I'll be the laughingstock for weeks."

Trevor laughed heartily at remembering, his sullen mood almost forgotten.

"Okay, got me there. Would give an O for effort, but a D for results." This earned Trevor a playful punch. "What did it feel like, anyway?"

Tonks looked away miserably, as the literally crushing memories came back.

"It felt like being ripped out of your body, crushed into pulp, and then stuffed back, except none of the parts are in the correct places. It was awful."

"Sounds lovely. Sure glad I missed that."

They sat on the bench as the sun rose further, only heading in when lunchtime lazily rolled around. Lunch caused Trevor to forgot about his own anger at being cucked of his chance to perform. Retiring to the library, Tonks and he buried their faces in textbooks, knowing that their N.E.W.T.s were fast approaching. Trevor held aspirations for becoming an artificer, so he had chosen to take Charms and Muggle Studies, as well as History of Magic - which was cannon fodder for the ever-present Tonks.

"Hey Tonks," Trevor said, nudging her under the table, "did you know that it wasn't illegal to procreate with magical creatures until the Blackback-Stoddard Act of 1902? Apparently there was a group of cultish wand-waving half-goblins that attempted to overthrow Gringotts. Killed themselves in a suicide pact by drinking effervescent cyanide. Wicked."

Tonks merely stared at Trevor. He continued.

"Makes one wonder about the horizontal technicalities surrounding Flitwick."

Tonks began loudly giggling at the prospect of Flitwick's procreation. The librarian, Pince, whipped out from behind a shelf of books, as she was wont to do, and brandished her duster at Tonks.

"Nymphadora! That is enough! Leave this library!"

Tonks grumbled, collecting her books and notes. She knew better than to fight with Pince in this domain. When she rose from the table, she accidently knocked some of Trevor's tomes, which thudded to the floor heavily.

"Immediately!" Pince whisper-screamed. Tonks hastened her retreat from her arch-nemesis.

"You as well," Pince said, turning to Trevor. His protest died in his throat. He calmly collected his things, then hurried to catch up with his retreating friend, glad to be free from the matron of books.

\- - -

Trevor hurried to the Great Hall the following weekend. Entering, he caught Dumbledore's gaze, who smiled wide. The gleeful energy coming off of him was astounding, giving Trevor an appreciation for the stature Dumbledore had obtained. The wizard was practically bouncing on his toes in excitement.

"Batty, that one," Tonks murmured to Trevor.

"Positions please," Wilkie Twycross said, waving his wand. Two black circles appeared, floating, two silver ones on the other end of the hall. Tonks and Trevor each took position.

"Miss Tonks, when you are ready."

Tonks closed her eyes, inhaling. She drew up her wand, and focused on the silver circle several stone's throw away. She could see herself in the circle, standing next to Dumbledore and Twycross. Traversing the gap would be so easy, and she could already feel herself where she wanted to be. She tipped her wand up, focused hard on her destination, and turned.

She felt herself move. The ground fell out from under her, but she was prepared this time, and looked away. Blackness engulfed her as she again felt her bones crushed down to nothing. Her senses came rushing back, and the ground rose up into existence as she felt her trainers impact the stones. She surprised herself by appearing standing upright, not even dizzy.

"All bits accounted for!"

Dumbledore clapped his hands.

"Well done, Nymphadora!"

Tonks beamed, proud that she had accomplished this task, not even bothering to be upset at the use of her first name.

"Mister Wrenley," Wilkie said.

Trevor raised his own wand. He closed his eyes, took a half step, and disappeared.

\- - -

In the Headmaster's office, Fawkes was screeching at having been booted off his perch by Trevor magically appearing.

"Oh, ho, where did you come from, young man?"

Trevor looked around for the voice, finally finding a short, bearded wizard with a grey hat staring jovially at him from a portrait.

"Oh, my manners! Good boy, my name is Armando Dippet!"

"Trevor Wrenley," Trevor said, holding out his hand uselessly. Dippet laughed at the outstretched hand.

"It is so rare to get a visitor! How exciting! Tell me, though, just how did you get up here? I never heard the gargoyle move!"

Before Trevor has a chance to reply, Dumbledore and Twycross burst through the grand oaken doors into the Headmaster's Office. Dumbledore looked at Trevor suspiciously, but his eyes betrayed his gentle mirth. Twycross looked much more strict.

"Mister Wrenley," Dumbledore said, voice stern, "please explain to me how you came to be up here."

Trevor shifted his weight nervously. He remembered that Twycross had told them that Apparition inside Hogwarts was impossible - they had to specifically lift the charm preventing it during the class. Which meant that there was no way Trevor should have been able to get up here.

"Well, sir," Trevor said lamely, "Was hungry for sweets and remembered you had some here, and they sort of -" he shrugged, trailing off.

"Interesting," Dumbledore said.

Twycross was less amused.

"Albus, this is highly unusual. There is no way this could have happened. We need to search him for dark artefacts! Or charm-breakers! Who knows what he could be hiding! We must bring him in to the Aurors for questioning!"

"Wilkie," Dumbledore said, "No one is going to be searching or detaining any of my students without my say so, and I do not say so."

Twycross visibly withered.

"However, I suppose a perfunctory examination is in order." Dumbledore turned to Trevor.

"Mister Wrenley, are you currently in possession of any artefacts that would affect your ability to Apparate?"

"No, sir," Trevor said, looking at his feet.

"Well, that settles that," Dumbledore said, reaching for the bowl on his desk. "Sherbet?"

Twycross looked fit to burst.

"Albus! You can't possibly expect me to accept that as evidence that Wrenley has done nothing wrong! Who knows if he is even telling the truth! Call the Aurors!"

Dumbledore merely looked at Twycross.

"Wilkie, I have known Mister Wrenley for seven long years, and never once has he told a lie. I do not anticipate him starting now. Please. Mister Wrenley and I will sit and talk about this recent event, and if I find it necessary, I will summon you."

Twycross does not see this as sufficient, but does assent and gives Trevor a curt nod before leaving the Headmaster's Office.

"Never much liked that one," Armando said from the wall, "always quick to jump to conclusions. Although, I suppose it's not too farfetched, given his career."

Dumbledore chuckled to himself.

"Trevor, have you been introduced? This is Armando Dippet, my predecessor."

"Yes, we have, sir," Trevor said.

"Oh, Albus, it was wonderful! He simply appeared with a slight puff of smoke, and set Fawkes off. It was a splendid display!"

"A puff of smoke," Dumbledore mused. "Curiouser and curiouser. Trevor, please have a seat."

Trevor sat in the plush velvet chair offered to him at Dumbledore's ornate desk.

"Now, Trevor," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his own, even plusher chair and steepling his fingers, "have you ever heard of the Blackback-Stoddard Act of 1902?"

Trevor nodded, causing Dumbledore's eyebrows to shoot up.

"Also curious," he said, almost to himself. "Then, I presume, you are also aware of who Irma Dugard is?"

"Yes, sir, she was the half-house-elf of the Lestranges and part of the inspiration of passing the Blackback-Stoddard Act. She was too unstable in her magic use, and the Ministry blamed it on her half-elf nature."

"Very good," Dumbledore said, practically bouncing in his chair like a child. "Now, what do you know of house-elf magic?"

"Well," Trevor began, racking his brain and trying to remember his textbooks. "They have myriad cleaning and cooking charms. And they are intensely loyal to their wizarding masters, unless freed. And they also have the ability to Apparate indiscriminately... And they perform without a wand."

"Excellent! Marvelous! Now tell me, where is _your_ wand?"

Trevor patted himself, and then realised with a start that his wand was gone. He didn't remember dropping it, but he definitely remembered holding it before he ended up here.

Dumbledore, amused, pulled the wand out of his own robes.

"Vine, 17 inches long, with a unicorn hair core, quite unusual," Dumbledore said, "and apparently completely unnecessary for you to Apparate."

Trevor sat in the chair, unmoving, the pieces finally clicking for him.

"Now, let's talk about your family."


	2. Facilitation

Tonks and Trevor sat in The Three Broomsticks, a pub in the wizarding village of Hogsmeade. Tonks lay face down on the table, her ignored butterbeer rapidly warming. Her face was dry, but the tears were still there. Her dream was to be an Auror, but she had only gotten an A on her Potions N.E.W.T., meaning that she didn't meet the requirements to join the Auror academy.

Trevor, meanwhile, had passed all three of his N.E.W.T.s with distinction, Charms Professor Flitwick in particular being impressed with his practical exam. Apparently, having a garbage can lid that flew around like a broom, could be recalled by an attuned wizard, and folded up into a tiny metal square for easy storage was a novelty. Trevor - of course - didn't reveal that this inspiration for this device was from a muggle children's show.

He didn't say anything to Tonks, just sat with her, shoulder to shoulder. Most of their time spent together was like this. They were both mild social outcasts, a result of their physical _deformities._ Tonks was, as everyone knew, a Metamorphmagus. That much was apparent now, as Tonks's hair had faded to a brown color, her skin pale, her face frowning. It was a far cry from the smiling, pink-haired, rosy-cheeked friend Trevor had most days. The ability to change your appearance at will was such a novelty and rarity that the student body at Hogwarts did what any student body does to the unique and abnormal: relentless bullying. Trevor couldn't even remember how many times Tonks had been asked to change into Norma Jeane Mortenson. Sure, being Witch of the Week for 403 straight weeks was great, but why did seemingly every boy in Hogwarts feel the need to ask her?

Things like that tended to make you an outcast, a fact that Trevor was rudely reminded of whenever he sat down. Being not even five feet tall meant that his feet swung free: hilarious to his peers, demeaning to himself. Paired with his slightly enlarged facial features, Trevor looked like something that "walked off the pages of _Fantastic Beasts_ and into real life", if you listened to the water cooler. At least now he understood why, even if the result wasn't terribly encouraging.

Nothing was known of Trevor's family: he was raised by his mother, alone, in a tiny village in Wales. His mother never spoke of his father, and his maternal grandparents died in a boating accident before he was born. Although his mother was wonderful, she was not a fount of information. Dumbledore had been extremely helpful in that regard, explaining to Trevor that, no, he wasn't merely a strangely shaped human.

"Look, Tonks," he said, nudging her, "at least you aren't part elf."

Tonks turned sharply to look at him.

"Yeah, I guess I should have told you, but I wanted to wait until we were done with N.E.W.T.s. Remember when I disappeared during the Apparition test? Well, I didn't disappear. I ended up in Dumbledore's office..."

\- - - -

"And so, I think it would be best if I introduced you to a friend," Dumbledore said, standing up. "Please follow me, Mister Wrenley." Dumbledore tossed Floo Powder into the fireplace, sending it roaring up in an impressive green fireball.

"Ministry of Magic," he said, gesturing to Trevor. Trevor walked into the green fire, and felt himself being dragged up and away. The floating sensation lasted a second before he emerged in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, somewhere in underground London. Dumbledore appeared shortly after him.

"We must go down the lifts, to visit my dear friend Broderick." Dumbledore took off toward the magical elevators, Trevor struggling to keep up. Inside, Dumbledore pressed the button for level nine with his wand. The lift sprang to life and clanked downward, slowly. After several minutes, Trevor began to worry that the lift had broken, as it had been stuck on the number eight since they entered. Finally, after an eternity, the lift number clanged over to nine, and a quite bored witch's voice announced their destination.

The Department of Mysteries.

The lift doors opened to expose a black hall, with black tiles, black torches, and a simple black door on the opposite wall. Trevor raised his arms to protect his eyes from the oppressive darkness, while Dumbledore simply strode ahead.

"It is prudent that we not dally," Dumbledore said, never breaking a stride.

Trevor muttered assent and ran after the strangely expedient wizard.

Trevor realised after a while that the door never actually came any closer. He looked at his watch, and then noticed that the hands weren't moving at all.

"Uh, Professor?"

Dumbledore halted.

"Oh, it has happened again," Dumbledore said, nonchalantly pulling out his wand and muttering. Trevor's watch suddenly spun around extremely quick, and the black door whizzed up to them at breakneck speed.

"Time behaves quite differently here," Dumbledore offered as an explanation, "and sometimes it needs a gentle reminder to keep moving." He wrenched the door open to reveal a blue circular room, empty except for a dark man in muggle clothing.

"Ah, Albus, you are right on time. Or time is right on you," the man said, smiling broadly.

"Broderick, it has been far too long. Or too short, whichever it may be down here. This is Trevor Wrenley, the man I was talking about earlier. Trevor, this is Broderick Bode, one of the Unspeakables here in the Department of Mysteries."

Exchanging pleasantries, Trevor shook the man's hand, but was instead thinking about Dumbledore's short speech. _Dumbledore called me a man_.

"Now, Trevor," Dumbledore said in his Professor mode, "the Department of Mysteries is highly secretive, and Derick has gone out of his way for us, so I must oblige you to partake in an Unbreakable Vow with me -" Dumbledore raised his hand "- I know it is highly unusual, but the circumstances are also. The Mysteries contained here must be safely protected, for the greater good of us all."

Trevor gulped. An Unbreakable Vow was a tall order for just about any wizard alive. The pressure of being in the only-whispered-about Department of Mysteries - and in the presence of an Unspeakable and Albus Dumbledore himself - made Trevor seriously consider running tail back to the lifts, escaping outside, and never setting foot here again. But, he trusted Dumbledore, and so the offered hand.

"Trevor Wrenley, will you speak to no one of the Department of Mysteries secrets you may witness here today?"

"I will."

A tiny jet of red flame erupted from Broderick's wand, encasing Trevor and Dumbledore's hands. It glowed white and then disappearred with a sharp crack. Dumbledore smiled at Trevor, unclasping his hand.

"Then let us journey on, to the room of Love," Broderick said, practically giddy at finally having a visitor to his dusty, backwater department. Speaking lowly, Broderick waved his wand in a figure eight pattern, and the room's doors spun wildly, before stopping completely. One door glowed in a soft red light, a handle magically appearing on its smooth surface.

"How?" Trevor said, before he could stop himself.

"Magic," Broderick said, motioning his two guests through.

The room they found themselves in was garish. A giant pink stone fountain took up the majority of the room, a dangerous pearly liquid pouring out. Broderick walked over toward a side room, all the while absently chattering about the various uses of the implements and devices on the walls, Trevor seemingly forgotten about. The strangeness of the entire event didn't even cause Trevor to wonder why a Ministry employ would even deign to consider working on a Saturday.

Trevor reached a hand toward the fountain, yelping in surprise when a fire-brand protective charm singed the tip of his fingers.

"Oh, uh, please don't try to drink the liquid," Broderick said, frowning, "and please follow me a little closer."

"Sorry," Trevor muttered, hastening to catch up with Dumbledore, who was about to turn into a LiteBrite himself with the amount of twinkling he was displaying.

"This," Broderick said, opening yet another pink door, "is the Room of Intertwining. In here, we study how two people -" he stopped, looking at Trevor "-or, uh, creatures, co-mingle to create a new one."

The room had several comfortable couches in it and a large armoire that Trevor knew probably held more things than he wanted to know about. The couches were suspiciously large, and looked dangerously comfortable, and Trevor was not unaware of the low, reddish light in the room.

"Um, Mister Bode, is this room just a glorified, uh..." Trevor waved his hands together weakly, the meaning not lost on Broderick, who turned slightly redder.

"No, no, no, Trevor," Broderick stammered, "this... is a room of academic research, not... debauchery..."

Dumbledore remained silent, but his eyes betrayed his utter delight.

"Okay, but what does this have to do with me?"

Broderick tugged nervously on his neckline.

"Let me go get Unspeakable Constantine here to help you. Constantine is our foremost experience on Love and the making of such." Broderick took his leave, leaving Trevor and Dumbledore alone in the brothel-esque room. The meaning behind the second part of Broderick's sentence was _not_ lost on Trevor who suddenly found himself extremely uncomfortable with this entire charade.

"It is much too dark," Dumbledore murmured, pulling out his Deluminator and releasing the electric lights he had stolen earlier. They zapped into the corners of the room, casting a noticeably brighter light in the still-dim room. "Much better."

"Thank you, Professor," Trevor said, awkwardly standing and waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

Trevor remembered, and pulled his watch out once more.

"Um, sir," he started, causing Dumbledore to sigh yet again.

"Someday, Mister Wrenley, you will appreciate the small moments of peace we can get in the otherwise unceasing maelstrom of frentic activity that is life." Another incantation, and the door to the outside finally burst open.

"Albus!" a decidedly young, shrill voice called out.

"Dana," Dumbledore said, grasping the witch's offered hand. "It has been too long, but I have been so busy, with the Flamels, and the boy, and..."

"Oh, no need Albus," Dana Constantine said, interjecting. "And who is this? Is this Trevor?"

Trevor offered his hand to the young witch before him, who gleefully shook it with both of hers.

"We have heard ever so much about you, and your friend, Nymphadora," she said, pumping his hand excitedly.

"Uh," Trevor said lamely, "really?"

"Oh yes, of course! The only Metamorphmagus and the only half-elf in Magical Britain? Ever so fascinating!"

Trevor frowned.

"This is all very confusing."

"Oh," Dana said, grasping Trevor's arm and leading him to one of the couches, "let us start at square one."

Dumbledore turned to go to the door.

"Trevor," he said, "I expect you to be back before dinner. And do not forget about our Vow."

Dana turned to Trevor, slamming a tome on the couch in between them. _Forbidden Love and Where It Leads You._

"Let's get started," she said, grasping his hand.

\- - - -

"... and so it turns out that somewhere, one of my great-something or other grandmothers rubbed knobs with a house-elf and here I am."

Tonks had sat up now, sadness gone, pink hair standing up tall and spiky.

"But you never _told me_ any of this! You prat!"

"Well, I didn't want to distract you from your N.E.W.T.s."

"Fat lot of good that did," Tonks said, lengthening a strand of hair so she could nervously play with it.

"'Course, can't say anything about the department itself," Trevor said, "'cause its all smoke and mirrors secrecy, but ened up finding out way more about interspecies mingling than anyone ever needed to know. You _really_ don't want to know how Pegasus came about."

Tonks wriggled her nose in disgust.

"But Trevor, you went in the fecking Department of Mysteries! No one does that!"

"Yah," Trevor said, "but it's probably something you'd rather not know about. It's weird, and unsettling, and was glad to be out. They told me things, and did things, and touched and prodded, and it couldn't get worse. Until they dragged me to the Department of Regulation for Magical Creatures. They poked and prodded even more, and now I have a special Trace on me, so I can't Apparate without them knowing, and having Hit Wizards pop in and blast me. Now I actually _feel_ like just a magical creature."

"Trevor! But this is wicked cool," Tonks said. "You can Apparate anywhere? Like a house-elf?"

Trevor nodded.

"Feels like being a caged animal, though."

"I can understand that," Tonks said, her hair fading to pastel.

They sat in comfortable silence a little longer. Tonks absently playing with her hair, Trevor swinging his feet. The Three Broomsticks was starting pick up slightly in patronage, it being the weekend. A commotion by the front door grabbed Trevor's attention, and an annoyed patron finally opened the door, letting a giant barn owl fly into the pub, before rudely landing on Trevor's table, spilling his beer into Tonks's lap.

Tonks pulled our her wand, fully prepared to hex the owl, when it screeched rudely, daring her. She ruefully set her wand down, upon which the owl held its leg out, two letters attached. She delicately removed them, the owl taking off and flying out the door without waiting.

"Rude," Trevor tutted. "But what's in the letters?"

Tonks had thrown one on the table and had already ripped hers open.

"It's from the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, they want me to apply for a position in the Investigation Department."

"Investigation Department? Never heard of it." Trevor grabbed his own letter, tearing the seal and pulling out the parchment. Sure enough, his said the same thing.

_Dear Mister Wrenley,_

_I hope this letter finds you well... blah blah blah... unique talents and abilities... blah blah... hereby invite you to apply for the position of Junior Investigator in the_ Investigation Department _... Please respond post-haste._

_As Ever,_

_Amelia Bones_

"Weird."

Trevor looked over at Tonks, who was shaking the parchment, as if willing more information out of it.

"Yeah, who knew you had any talent or ability, Nymphadora."

Tonks turned red, tackling Trevor to the bench.

"Take it back!"

"Never!"

\- - - -

Amelia Bones leant back in her chair, eyeing the two barely-adults sitting across her. Dumbledore had recommended them with _distinction_ and she couldn't ignore the recommendation of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin (first class), Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, could she?

But she harboured doubt about just what the Supreme Mugwump saw in the wizard and witch in front of her. A short, ugly, skittish half-elf and an ever-changing, bubbly Metamorphmagus, truly a better duo never existed. Some days, she wished she was back in Florean Fortescue's in Diagon Alley, serving up ice cream to hungry witches and wizards. Those days were long gone.

Instead, she had to do this: shoehorn these two lost souls into her department because Albus - damn him! - saw potential in these two curmudgeons. Well, the hardest decisions required the strongest wills, and Amelia had that in spades.

"Only three N.E.W.T.s, Mister Wrenley?" Amelia asked.

Mumbling assent, Trevor stared at his kicking feet, feeling utterly lost. This entire thing was a mistake, he should be back at Borgin's bookstore, filling out an employment form, where his visage and attitude would be b-

"And yet, an O with _distinction_ on all three. Impressive, if a bit unconventional. History of Magic? Muggle Studies? I can't recall ever seeing even an Auror applicant with _distinction_ on a History of Magic N.E.W.T."

"Just... Professor Binns..." Trevor felt his face reddening, "Just like Goblin wars. A lot. It wasn't too hard."

"I see," Amelia said. "And you, Miss Tonks. I see you took all the N.E.W.T.s required for an Auror, yet, unfortunately, you missed the mark on Potions. A shame, but I understand - the Hogwarts potions master can be a little... demanding."

Tonks's hair flushed red before quickly reverting to pink.

"Well, your examination scores are nothing too impressive for this department, but that isn't why you're here, is it. No, we're much more interested in your non-academic abilities. Let me tell you about the Investigation Department."

The Investigation Department was a relatively newer branch of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, designed to augment the Aurors with a more specialised information gathering task force. Where the Hit Wizards concentrated on arrests and riot control, the Investigators concentrated on discovering information, connecting puzzle pieces, and linking criminals with their crimes.

It wasn't a glamorous job, and it certainly didn't come with the perks and prestige of being an Auror, but it was an opportunity for the two of them to use their natural talents to perform some kind of good, make the Wizarding World a better place. And - with time - the path of Auror might open up for the best and brightest investigators.

"Well, then. Welcome aboard, Junior Investigators Tonks and Wrenley," Amelia said, standing up and shaking their hands in turn.

"You'll start training with the Auror academy cadets next Monday, at 7 am, with Alastor Moody. We expect punctuality."

"Yes ma'am," they replied in unison, filing out of Amelia's office with barely contained excitement.


	3. Investigation

"Wotcher, Wrenley."

Tonks had her feet kicked up on Trevor's desk - again - nose-deep in the Sports & Games section of the _Daily Prophet_ once more.

"Uh, checking out the 69th Annual All-England Young Wizard Gobstone results?"

Tonks lowered the paper enough to shoot a withering glare at Wrenley before shaking it back to fullness. Wrenley just chuckled to himself slightly, setting his bag on his desk and casting a cleaning charm. Which, incidentally, also happened to "clean" Tonks's boots off the desk. Satisfied with the groaning heap of witch on the floor and a nice clean desk, Wrenley sat down and began emptying his bag.

"You know," he started, talking as if Tonks were still sitting askance, "Saw in the paper that the Flamels recently passed. Did you know they were nearly 700 years old? Must have lost the Philosopher's Stone. Well that, or the will to live. Can't imagine being so old."

Tonks said nothing from the floor.

"Oh, are you quite alright? Didn't even notice that you'd fallen. Here, let's help you up."

A casual wave of the hand and Tonks was deposited back in her chair, more or less. Harrumphing, she straightened her shirt and robes, attempting to remove the dust with a cleaning charm, but it only seemed to make the problem worse.

"Are you that helpless?" A finger snap, and all the dust in the room completely vanished.

"Wrenley, do you absolutely have to rub it in? We get it, you're a half-breed freak with the amazing ability of _cleaning_. Wonderful. Brilliant. Magical, even."

"Useful," Trevor said, summoning the newspaper from the floor. "Ahha, Goldstein won again. He's quite the gobstones player, wouldn't you agree? Glad to see that Wales absolutely crushed Hungary though, smashing. Wouldn't want the continentals ruining our precious game, would we?"

"I swear, Wrenley, no one cares about your stupid spitting stone game."

"Come on, you're just upset because you never win."

Tonks said nothing. She mutely summoned the latest stack of parchment from Wrenley's pile to her, which overshot and scattered to the floor. Trevor just grinned, glad to see that his accelerator charm worked perfectly.

"Mercy, Tonks, just let me do that." A wave of the hand, and the papers all layered themselves beautifully in front of Tonks. Trevor smiled, wide, sweet, and sickly at the indignant woman in front of him, who was currently fighting off the very real temptation to hex the everlasting s-

"Wrenley, Tonks," Head Investigator Burbage interrupted, "I have a new lead on something you'll be interested in. Our good friend Ignacio Mortlake had been breeding ferrets that supposedly feed on blood. Here's the file." He carelessly threw the dusty parchments onto Trevor's sparkling desk, smacking down in a thick cloud of filth.

Which, unsurprisingly, divested dust mites, who skittered away.

"Enjoy," Burbage said, slamming the office door shut. Trevor just stared at the tiny, retreating creatures, then hung his head.

"It's going to take weeks to get those fuckers out of here."

A most unladylike guffaw burst from Tonks.

Sighing, Trevor magically cleaned the desktop as best he could, except purposefully pushing the giant piles of dust onto Tonks's side. He thumbed through the parchments, looking for details that might jump out at him. Blood magic was a taboo subject in the Ministry, so Trevor hoped that this was merely some sort of sharpening charm and meat compulsion placed on the ferrets. Tonks stood over his shoulder, taking in the details as he manically flipped through the pages and pages of useless drivel. No surprise here why the Ministry was such a large machine, as Trevor's hands paused over a page titled "Request for Permission to Obtain Permission for Records from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, Phase 1". And, at the bottom, this particular sheet had a wax seal indicating it was void, since the author had transposed two words in the written request.

Trevor was about the flip the page when he stopped.

Muggle... Artefacts? But these were ferrets, surely they weren't considering anything muggle to be an artefact. Even the Ministry, in its boundless wisdom, wouldn't make that mistake. Trevor shook the parchment and actually started to read it. Apparently, Mortlake had been caught charming muggle "gramm or foans" to belt out crass phrases, then surreptitiously placing them in muggle shops.

"This bloke is straight barmy," Tonks said, tapping on the file photo of Mortlake. He wore garish purple robes with green trim, and a wide brimmed straw hat perched on his head. While eating from a can labelled Heinz.

"A few stones short of a full gob, he is," Trevor agreed, wincing when Tonks smacked him.

"Any more gob out of your gob, and you’ll be two stones short of a full man."

"Yes ma’am." Knowing when to quit was an art.

Trevor frowned at the grinning, bean-eating face of Mortlake on the paper. Perhaps the man was just clinically insane, charming muggle objects to terrorize them. Or maybe there was something more. In any case, Trevor was sure this was just another joke case, like the tribbles that someone had dumped in the municipal water supply of muggle Oxford, clogging it for days. Ended up being a couple of children. The Oblivators had their hands full at that point.

"Going to talk to Arthur," Trevor said, standing. "Look over these, see if you can find out exactly where these ferrets are, or what Mortlake wants to do with them. Thanks."

Trevor walked down to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, which was in a forgotten, dusty corner of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The sign on the door hang askew, and occasional bright lights flashed through the window. Trevor pushed the door open gingerly.

A rabid toaster jumped at him, bread slot gnashing, trying to claim another finger.

"Betsy! Down!"

A red bolt hit the toaster, and it fell to the floor, stunned. Small wonder no one in the Ministry took this department seriously.

"Sorry about that, Trevor. Betsy jumped out my hands when you opened the door! Do come in," Arthur Weasley said, inviting Trevor into the now-safe room. Trevor stepped as wide as he could, which wasn't much, over the toaster, eyeing it suspiciously.

"Arthur, a - uh - pleasure as always."

Arthur was too busy attempting to wrangle the re-enervated, still biting toaster into a heavy metal cage. Succeeding, Arthur spun around to Trevor, smoothing a bit of his red hair. Clearing his throat, he motioned to Trevor to sit down at his desk, which was currently overflowing with muggle devices. Trevor noticed a toaster and a telephone, as well as what he seemed to recall being a counter-top device used for generating heat inside of food. Arthur was currently working with several dagger-like objects.

"Trevor, look at how ingeniously clever these muggles are," he said, holding one of the sharp objects. "You simply press down this protrusion, and look -" the blade retracted into the handle with a tiny sound "- and press once more, and it pops out."

Trevor handled the device, testing it a few times, impressed at the intricacy of the mechanism. Arthur continued, at this point acting like a child in an ice cream parlour.

"There's a device inside the handle, which is a long strand of metal wire, and it's coiled up like a striking snake. It's usually quite long, but when the blade pulls back into its shell, the coil winds up like one of those clocks, and wants to push the blade back to its starting place. When you push the button, the coil expands and forces the blade to spring out."

"Fascinating," Trevor said, eyeing the tiny spring-blade in his hands.

"Now tell me, Trevor, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"Arthur, need help capturing some ferrets, before they endanger any hapless muggles."

"Ferrets," Arthur muttered, rubbing his chin.

"It's Mortlake. Again." Arthur's face broke out in a grin.

"Count me in!"

\- - - -

"Levicorpus," Trevor said, poking his wand at the stunned and restrained form of Ignacio Mortlake. Reluctantly, the body rose, following Arthur Weasley and the Hit Wizards out of Mortlake's tiny manor house, picked clean of all charmed muggle artefacts.

"We'll take it from here," a Hit Wizard said, taking control of the charm from Trevor, who gave his thanks in kind. Trevor returned inside the manor, where Tonks was rummaging through the cellar, looking for magical evidence. The raid was a complete success, and Mortlake ended up going quite peacefully in the end. All it took was a little magical bludgeoning and Trevor "accidentally" crushing one of Mortlake's charmed muggle train sets underfoot. Then, they neatly packed him up, along with a dozen chomping, toothy ferrets, and several trunks worth of screaming teddy bears and trinkets from his workshop. A clean raid, and this was their sixth attempt at just finding the wizard. If someone didn't want to be found, then it made the Ministry's job just that much harder.

But Trevor couldn't shake the thought that Mortlake was not just a crazy fool charming payphones to spit coins back out at poor muggles. Mortlake's manor and storehouses were innocuous enough, but the man had bookings going back nearly fifty years. Still, he had never been found to harm any wizards, just tormenting muggles with the occasional lost finger or hurt feeling.

"Oi," Tonks called from the cellar, pulling Trevor out of his reverie. "Found something. You might want to take a look."

Trevor walked down the creaking cellar steps, seeing Tonks thoughtfully muttering and casting spells at a particularly large armoire. It stood still, stoically, refusing to budge under even the most concentrated spellwork. The black cabinet with gold trim just refused to move, the spells impacting the surface and absorbing uselessly into the wood. Tonks grew increasingly frustrated, drawing her arm back, then sweeping forward with a reductor curse ready to go.

"Tonks, wait," Trevor said, grabbing her arm. "This might be a Vanishing Cabinet."

Tonks dropped her wand arm.

"A Vanishing Cabinet? The ones that Moody talked about from the war?"

"Yeah."

Trevor reached out to touch the cabinet, seemingly feeling a dark tension around it. The same sensation he got whenever he was around Dumbledore, almost as if the object was affecting the air around it. Almost unbidden, his hand reached out for the handle, Tonks watching, unmoving.

"Elfsies must stop! Stop," a tiny voice cried. Tonks and Trevor whirled to the spot, wands out, disarming charms caught in their throats.

"Fizz mustn't tell wizzy and witchy about bad man cabinet, but elfsies isn't wizzy or witchy," the tiny female house elf stammering, wringing her hands. "Master sometimes goes in bad man cabinet. Master gone for days, Fizz left alone. Fizz doesn't want to be alone, please don't enter bad man cabinet!"

The house-elf was practically in hysterics at this point.

"Okay, okay, look, Fizz, no one is going in the - uh - bad man cabinet." Trevor knelt down near the elf. "We're from the Ministry -" The elf wailed.

"No! Don't lie to Fizz! Elfsie cannot be from the Ministry, Ministry hates elfsies! Ministry let bad man have elfsies!"

"Fizz," Trevor reached out, grabbing the now crying elf. She immediately stopped crying when Trevor touched her, staring at him with large, tear-filled eyes. "Fizz, uh, gonna need you to calm down. Can you... make some tea for us, or something?"

Fizz's eyes lit up with inner splendour.

"Oh, elfsie and elfs-friends want tea? Fizz make tea!"

And with a puff of smoke, she disappeared. Tonks cleared her throat.

"Wrenley, quite the woman - rather, elf-anizer."

Trevor felt himself reddening. Tonks continued.

"Didn't you notice, though? She specifically called you an elf, and not a wizard. And then she accepted your order, even though you aren't her master. Unless, you are...?"

Trevor shook his head.

"Don't know, Tonks. Don't feel very elfin. If you ignore my stature and yes dear, of course, dear, attitude." Tonks chortled. "No wonder Dumbledore looked so full of himself that day, practically am a house-elf. With a wand. Well, since Fizz seems to take a fancy to me, let's see what we can find out here."

"Shouldn't we call the Aurors? This _is_ a dark artefact," Tonks said, hands-on-hips.

"Yeah. Mind if you go ahead, leave me to ask Fizz some questions. We are investigators, right?"

"Promise you'll fill me in? A girl doesn't like being left in the dark,"

"Don't worry Tonks, we'll share it all."

Tonks skipped up the cellar stairs, two at a time, grabbed some Floo Powder, and was whisked away to the Ministry atrium. She emerged in a sooty heap of shame, as ever. Readjusting her fashion-less investigator uniform, she grabbed her black newsie from where it had fallen, casting a mirror charm and looking at herself.

God, the investigator uniform was really something else entirely. She looked like a minger.

More incentive to do well and become an Auror, she decided. She hurried to Burbage's office, knocking at the door. Hearing a grunt, she entered. Burbage sat reclined in his leather chair, muggle cigar hanging from his mouth, feet kicked up on the desk. He looked like a ponce.

"Sir, we found something abnormal at Mortlake's manor," she stammered, suddenly losing her courage. Burbage swung forward, pulling the cigar out of his mouth and brandishing it like a sword to punctuate his words.

"Interesting? You mean beyond the heaps of muggle bullshit you wasted my department's time scouring halfway around the damned planet for? You lot are just as insane as my sister, and she should have been shoved in the loony bin years ago! I should have you fired for the reckless squander of resources. It should have been a smash and grab, in and out, once and done operation, but it's been two bloody months and all I have to show for it is foul-tempered vermin and finger-biting teddy bears!"

Tonks merely stood stone-faced, weathering the now-tiring tirade.

"Now, Miss Tonks, tell me why I shouldn't fire you and that rat-boy here and now."

"Sir, uh," Tonks started weakly, struggling to find her voice. "We found a Vanishing Cabinet in Mortlake's cellar."

Burbage just stared at her blankly, leant over his desk, his oppressive presence forcing Tonks into a corner. After a while, his shoulders slumped, admitting defeat in his quest to divest himself of these two.

"Get Amelia."

"Yes, sir," Tonks said, turning, glad to be away from him.

\- - - -

Trevor sat at a table he had conjured in the cellar of Mortlake's manor, drinking tea with his new friend, Fizz the house-elf. She spoke quite freely to him, apparently the binding laws on house-elfs only truly being applicable to elf-wizard interactions, and not elf-elf interactions. More pieces and explanations of his past were becoming apparent to Trevor.

Fizz stated, as a matter-of-fact, that it was just so obvious that Trevor was an elf.

"Elfsie feels it? The darkness that comes off the bad man cabinet?"

Trevor glanced over at the silent, looming cabinet in the room. He did feel a faint prick of something when he had tried to open the cabinet. And he remembered feeling a similar thing before summer, when Dumbledore partook in the Apparition lessons, and when he entered the hallway in the Department of Mysteries.

"I guess so," Trevor said, taking another sip of the tea Fizz had prepared.

"Yes, because elfsie is an elfsie, like Fizz," she said, setting her teacup down and jumping up.

"Fizz must go," she exclaimed, disappearing in a slight puff of smoke, taking her cup and saucer with her. Wrenley was confused, until he heard the unmistakable thumping of Mad-eye Moody's wooden leg.

"Wrenley," Mad-eye shouted from upstairs. "Were you fraternising with the enemy down there?"

"No, sir," Wrenley shouted back, "just having a spot of tea. Care to join?"

"I suppose you are expecting me, since you've set out an extra chair. I'll have to pass, wouldn't want to make Dawlish jealous."

Mad-eye thumped his way down to the cellar.

"Interesting," he said, magical all-seeing left eye spinning about madly in its socket. "You didn't even bother to set up _detection charms._ What would you have done if a thousand dark wizards and a dragon suddenly burst out of this cabinet?"

Trevor thoughtfully set his mug down.

"Be thankful for my will."

Mad-eye grunted in return, as Dawlish opened the cabinet and peered inside.

"Dawlish!" Moody bellowed. "Have we taught you nothing?"

"Oh, come off it, Alastor, there's nothing in here. It's as empty as the space between Wrenley's ears."

"Being lucky is no substitute for being prepared," Mad-eye said, slamming the cabinet shut with a spell. "Let's get this back to containment, so we can see where it leads. Could have its brother in Azkaban for all we know."

Dawlish grunted, working to dispel the charms placed on the cabinet to keep it in place. Levitating the cabinet, Dawlish headed outside where cabinet and wizard Disapparated. Moody turned to face Trevor.

"Wrenley, learn anything while you were here?"

"No, sir," Trevor said, still sitting at his conjured table. "Just had some tea and held the fort."

"Very well," Moody said, not at all convinced. "Let us see if Mortlake had any other surprises. I don't see anything, but your unique perspective might elucidate me."

Trevor sighed, standing up and vanishing his table and set. He followed Moody upstairs, into Mortlake's personal chamber. The room was very done up, with a huge four-poster with luscious, thick pillows, and bookshelves lining the walls, fit to burst with all manner of strange muggle tomes.

"Sir," Trevor said, pulling one out, "look, these muggles call themselves 'dummies'."

Moody held both of his eyes on the book for a moment, before softly shaking his head.

"I don't think we'll ever understand them," he said.

"Or what a D.O.S. is." Flipping the book over, Trevor read the back, which didn't help his understanding at all. Sighing, he placed it back in the shelf, with a slew of other yellow-spined books. Moody was currently rifling through Mortlake's nightstand with zero regard for the captured man's privacy.

"Oh ho, what's this? Star-crossed lovers?"

Moody had pulled out a photograph of a witch in a field, laughing at something the photographer had said. Trevor looked at the picture, frowning. The face was so familiar, but where had he seen it? He racked his brain, trying to remember from which textbook it came. It was on the tip of his tongue, and he knew it was somewhere in his mind, if he could just reach it. It was so c-

"There's some writing on the back. Muggle ink. Seems like it's all smudged now, though. Mortlake has probably been pulling this out and using it to, you know," Moody said, making a rude gesture.

Then it hit him. It wasn't a textbook, but the Daily Prophet from several years ago.

"Do you remember the story of the witch that killed herself with a spell?"

Both of Mad-eye's eyes swivelled down to meet Trevor's. They spoke in unison.

"Lovegood."


End file.
